


A Handful of Dust

by tacomuerte



Series: Femslash February 2017 - Chlonette Edition [8]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Akumatized Major Character, Angst, Dark, Darkest Timeline, F/F, Femslash February 2017, Hopeful (sort of) Ending, Mad Max AU, Seriously Dark, Tragedy, Violence, super dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9857423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacomuerte/pseuds/tacomuerte
Summary: Hawk Moth didn't win, but he did break the world when his attempt to wield the full power of the Miraculous failed.Now, the world is dying. During these times of chaos, there is a legend of a woman whose only purpose is to destroy Hawk Moth. Her name is Mari. Some say she once was Ladybug. Some say she still is.Only the most brutal survive in this decaying maelstrom. Ordinary people were broken and shattered... people like Mari. In the flames of a failed ritual, she lost everything and became a shell of a woman... a wreck of a woman... a woman haunted by the demons of her past.After Paris fell, she wandered into The Wastes.For five years, only rumors and whispers hint at her existence...* * *Title from "The Waste Land" by TS Eliot.Femslash February 2017 Day 8: On Wheels





	

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,  
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,  
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only  
There is shadow under this red rock,  
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),  
And I will show you something different from either  
Your shadow at morning striding behind you  
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;  
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

\- _TS Eliot, The Waste Land_ (1922)

*** * ***

My name is Mari.

My world is fire and blood.

Once… I was a hero. 

I lived in the most beautiful city in the world and fought villains alongside the boy I loved. 

We had the Miraculous. 

We couldn’t lose. 

Hawk Moth would be defeated. 

We would all live happily ever after. 

To us, it was all some children’s game.

We were wrong. 

I was wrong.

The entire world burned when a madman’s ritual failed and ran out of control.

The ruin of what was once my beautiful city is fueled by the dying bodies of those who thought they were lucky to survive.

Using the scant food and clean water remaining, Hawk Moth rules what is left of my beautiful, dying city. 

My city is gone.

My parents are gone.

My friends are gone.

My boy is gone. 

Everything is gone.

All I have now are fragments of my Miraculous and memories of The World That Was. 

Memories plague me… haunt me. 

Just like the rest of the scum that refused to die, I watch what’s left of the world fall apart bit by bit every day. I do my part to help it along.

Those that died were smarter than the rest of us. They were the lucky ones. I know that now.

But I don’t want to be smart. I don’t want to be lucky. 

I want Hawk Moth to burn like he burned my city. I want him to feel what I felt when he corrupted and murdered my friends. I want him to suffer like I did when he took the boy I loved.

Right now, I must be sixty kilometers southeast of what used to be Paris. Now, it’s Nouveau Paradis. It’s Hawk Moth’s city… his throne. 

Not for much longer, though, if I have anything to say about it. That’s why I’m here, too close to his city. It’s nearly time for me to go back to Nouveau Paradis and end this.

I’m on a clock. I can feel the tainted Earth’s poisons inside me. I can feel the damage my Miraculous is trying and failing to fight. If I do nothing, Hawk Moth will win by default soon, and he’ll have my city for as long as this rotting carcass of a world hangs on to life.

Nouveau Paradis… the name used to make me angry. Then I learned better. There’s so much more to be angry about than a tyrant renaming a city.

The ground trembles. It’s slight… barely there. Vehicles coming soon. Either a Dweller convoy or a Waster war party. Both are bad news.

I’m up in an instant, revving up my bike.

If it’s a Waster war party, I’m fine. I can outrun them. They don’t plan. They just swarm like locusts, devouring whatever’s stupid enough to get in their way.

If it’s one of Hawk Moth’s convoys, I already know running won’t do me any good. I can probably outpace most of them, but their scouts will have seen me before I felt the first whisper of the main force’s approach.

The roar from my engine drowns out everything else. On the move, I must rely solely on sight, so I wipe the grime from my goggles. Telltale flashes from mirrors let me know it’s a Dweller convoy. The scouts are ahead in the distance sending messages by reflected sunlight, and a flair behind me tells me the main force has received the message.

I have nowhere to run. 

I try anyway, even knowing that in the end I’ll have to fight. At least this way, I have a small chance. Smarter to string them out, though. Make them work for it. By nightfall, I’ll either have a full tank of fuel and as much water and food as I can carry, or I’ll be dead.

You might think with how empty the world is now that I could pick a direction and run. That’s the fastest way to die. The Wastes only seem wide open to Dwellers who get cast out. That’s why they die quick. 

What looks like open savannah hides marshes and sink holes where the Earth just quit trying to be right. If you avoid those, you walk into nests of vipers or packs of wild dogs. The savannahs are the easiest terrain, so they attract the predators. Despite all this, they’re still the best chance someone has. 

Wander into the dry sands to the south and you find out fast if you can survive on a diet of scorpions for food and lizard’s blood for water while the pounding sun bakes cancer into you no matter how well covered you think you are. 

A few smart Dwellers try the mountains to the east. They freeze. It’s better to go quick like that if you can’t handle the easier parts of the Wastes.

There is nothing to the north or west. It’s all poisoned oceans containing no life and no relief from the killing sun.

Every direction you pick is either slow death or fast death for Dwellers on their own, away from their convoys.

But I’m not a Dweller. I’m a Waster, through and through. 

The moment of The Collapse, I got out of Paris, fleeing into the erupting Wastes thinking I’d be back soon and I’d put Hawk Moth down and fix everything. 

I was stupid. There is no fixing anything. Not anymore.

Five years later, I’m still alive. I could tell you it’s because I’m smart. I could tell you it’s because I’m strong. But strong and smart aren’t enough, and I don’t care enough to lie these days. 

The only reason I’m still here is because I hate Hawk Moth enough to do what I have to do to stay alive no matter what the cost to my body and soul. 

Both are on borrowed time already.

That’s what a Waster is. Stubborn… smart… mean… living on borrowed time.

The stubborn part of me says go to ground. Fight them as they come to you and make them earn your corpse and maybe, just maybe, they’ll decide you aren’t worth it even though I know deep down they won’t stop coming until I’m dead.

The smart part of me—the part that wants nothing more than to see Hawk Moth dead before I eat a bullet of my own—that part says keep moving. I might get lucky. I might slip through. If they catch me, I’m either dead from the fight or they take me back to Nouveau Paradis, which is a fancier way of saying I’m dead.

The mean part of me doesn’t really have an opinion on the two options. It just wants to hurt someone as soon as possible.

I think the mean part of me is the one that’s going to get what it wants.

The main force closes enough so that I can feel the ground rumble even while I’m pushing my bike to give me everything it’s got. They’re using nitro. It’s the only explanation. Knowing doesn’t speed me up or slow them down, though.

I can see the scouts ahead, tightening the noose. They’re lighter targets. Faster, but if I can breach their line, I have a chance in the confusion.

That’s when the grenades start coming in and I revise my chances to zero.

I don’t stop. At least they’ll have to waste ammo. Maybe piss Hawk Moth off enough to feed some of them to his dogs.

I weave to keep them from getting a bead on my path with their explosives, but that slows me down, letting the scouts pull beside me, striking at me with their lances. It’s like picking whether you want to get shot in the gut or choked to death.

It’s no surprise that the grenades keep coming, despite the presence of the scouts. Everyone’s replaceable except people like Hawk Moth who are so hard to get to they might as well not be real.

For a second, I wonder if maybe the grenades will clear enough of a path through the scouts for me to bust through and then it’s a pure race, and I’d bet on me and my bike against these trash Dwellers.

It’s a fool’s dream. The scouts have me hemmed in with their lances. They keep me stuck moving in a straight line, and the main force is too close. The next grenade goes off in front of me and it’s small comfort that several scouts go flying along with me.

My last thought before I hit the ground is I hope my bike makes it. If I somehow scrape through this, I’ll need it or something else because a Waster on foot might live longer than a Dweller on foot, but that’s just measuring hours instead of minutes.

The world goes dark.

I wake up when someone does their best to put their boot through my face. It takes me a nearly a minute to get my bearings. I’m disappointed in myself. Living means figuring things out quick, concussion or not.

Despite the ringing in my ears and my skull, I take note of what I can. It’s night and we’re in the open. That isn’t good. Even Dwellers are smart enough to find some rocks at least. The looks I’m getting tell me I’m the reason they’re out here. At least we’re stopped. The only thing dumber than holing up in the open is to try and travel the Wastes at night.

Weight pushing down on my neck tells me I’m shackled, so I lunge forward to see if maybe they were careless. I’m strong but skinny. Maybe I can slip out if I struggle.

They weren’t careless. I’m going nowhere and I get another boot for my troubles. This time to the stomach.

I take a second, hacking and coughing on the ground, to let my head clear some more. There’s no way they know how fast my body fixes itself, so I’ve got that much of an advantage.

I don’t have a Lucky Charm or a Miraculous Ladybug anymore. No Tikki to guide me. When Hawk Moth’s ritual went bad, I pulled my tattered Miraculous out of the bloody pit, and it fused with my body.

Now, I’m stronger than I have any right to be. Faster, too. And I heal quick. All I need is time, food, and water. 

Lucky me.

Time, I’ve got in spades. Food and water, not so much, but I make do. I have enough in me to fix what these Dwellers have broken in an hour or less.

The Dwellers laugh at me and one of them holds my head up for a good look.

He drops me and nods to his convoy leader. He makes the mistake of not putting any distance between me and him before he turns his head.

I make him pay for that. I lunge forward again, this time with a target. I get my teeth around his thumb and then it’s not his thumb anymore. It’s mine. 

I swallow it, so there’s no chance he gets it back either. I’m not a cannibal like more than half the Wasters out here, but if I’m going to die, I’m causing as much damage to these assholes as possible first.

Thumbless is screaming and I get a third boot for my trouble. It’s worth it.

The convoy boss steps forward and slugs the unlucky Dweller. The new man is tall and fat. That’s not an insult. Fat in this world is an accomplishment. It isn’t like he’s rich. He’s a convoy boss, meaning he’s smart enough and mean enough to get fat while most get dead.

“You get what you deserve for being stupid,” the fat man shouts to the writhing Dweller. “Burn the wound!”

Three men grab the idiot and drag him to the fire. He screams more. I’m smart enough to not smile too much.

The fat man turns to me, keeping the right amount of distance. I knew he was smart.

“A right feral one, we got here, boys,” he says eyeing me like I’m a nice steak dinner with all the fixings from The World That Was. “Best keep your distance, but make sure she’s secure.”

He stands and grins. It isn’t friendly and for the first time in a long time I feel nervous. Not afraid. I haven’t got anything to be afraid for or afraid of anymore. But I’m nervous because the way he looks at me… he knows, and he’s about to bet everything on being the convoy boss that brings in Marinette Dupain-Cheng, formerly Ladybug, and delivers her to Gabriel Agreste, Hawk Moth.

I’m dragged kicking and growling and spitting, and it’s a fight but in the end I’m where they want me, chained to the side of a tanker. All that lovely fuel and not a drop of it for my poor bike.

The fat man turns and shouts, “Get that blue flair and fire it high!”

Within seconds, a bright flair the color of a clear morning sky soars through the air, visible for kilometers. It’s satisfying on one level to be wanted so badly that a convoy will point out their position to every Waster and starving beast within twenty kilometers.

A Dweller standing beside the fat man cranes his neck up to watch the flair and says, “You reckon it’s her, Pete?”

Nice to know the name of the bastard I’m going to kill first chance I get.

Fat Pete shrugs. “Eyes match the flair. Orders is orders. We see a dark-haired Waster girl on her own with bright blue eyes, we send up the flair no matter what. Then we don’t touch her. Boss’ orders.”

The short dweller nods. “Best not piss off the boss.”

I’ve got an idea who they mean by “boss” and I’ve no desire to have a conversation with that asshole.

“Right,” Fat Pete says. “I don’t fancy being skinned alive.”

“Poor Theo,” Short Dweller responds, shuddering. “Couldn’t keep his hands to his self. Hard when you find a pretty Waster like that.”

Fat Pete spits on the ground. “He knew the rules and he got off easy since it wasn’t her. Boss would’ve done a lot worse to him if Theo had gotten hold of the one he wants, so fuck Theo.”

Part of me starts to like Fat Pete. I’ll kill him quick.

The big man stirs and starts to walk off, but not before ordering, “No one talks to her and keep your distance. If it is her, she’s smarter and meaner than all of us put together.”

Part of me wants to choke Fat Pete with his own tongue.

None of the convoy Dwellers are stupid enough to cross Fat Pete. Figures I get caught by the one disciplined crew in the Wastes. That leaves me to stew, wondering when I’ll find out what comes next. I conserve my strength and try not to imagine what’s coming because that’s when you get careless. You either get the idea that it’ll be easier than it ends up being and you miss something important, or you overthink how bad it’ll be and you don’t take what chances you get.

Conserve strength. Rest. Heal. It’s all I can do.

I don’t have to wait long. My best guess is it’s about two hours later when I hear vehicles approaching. From where I’m at, I get a good long look as they approach. Must be over two hundred cars and bikes and tankers.

What can I say? I’m a popular girl.

No wonder these Dweller assholes weren’t too worried. No Waster is dumb enough to go up against that much firepower.

The lead car pulls up and a lithe figure leaps out with all the grace and beauty of a ballerina.

There was a time when that sight would have made my heart beat so fast that my brain couldn’t keep up, leaving me a stuttering mess.

Lucky for me, that heart died five years ago.

Adrien Agreste, the man I used to know as Chat Noir, saunters towards me, a lazy smirk pasted on his face. His bright green eyes bore into me from twenty paces.

Those eyes… I feel shame that parts of me still react to those eyes. Parts of me think it might not be all bad to give in and let those eyes roam over my naked body like they used to when we would lie in on a Saturday morning debating whether we would get out of bed at all. Parts of me ache for those strong, nimble hands to draw sounds out of me that I don’t even know if I’m capable of making now.

Those parts of me are traitors. Those parts can somehow forget that this man, now dressed in solid white from head to toe instead of the black he used to wear so proudly, gave himself freely to his father’s cause after Hawk Moth revealed that everything he did was to pull the soul of a particular dead woman back to Earth.

Adrien’s weakness was always his mother.

Once he had Adrien’s loyalty, all Hawk Moth needed was one girl’s Miraculous and seven human sacrifices. He hadn’t bothered telling his son about that last part, but by the time I had been captured, Adrien was so far gone—akumatized for more power than I could hope to fight against—that the order to murder seven innocent girls so their blood could power a hellish ritual wasn’t enough to pull him back from the abyss. 

The way I’m bound up, there’s no way I can stop him from cupping my chin and turning my face. I have no choice but to stare into those too-green eyes.

I consider trying to bite my own tongue off and choking on the blood, but Chat Blanc, as he styles himself these days, wouldn’t allow that to be my end. His men would hold me down until the wound was cauterized, and then he would just make some joke about a cat having my tongue while he waved the severed organ in front of my face.

The boy I loved is gone. Chat Noir is gone. 

Chat Blanc is a murderer. Someday, I’m going to kill Chat Blanc. 

If I tell myself that enough, maybe I’ll have the strength to pull the trigger when the time comes.

“Hello, my love,” Adrien purrs, all smiles and lovely eyes.

I don’t answer. He may beat me for my silence, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of playing his game. Adrien always loved his banter.

The smile switches off the moment he realizes I have no interest in cooperating.

“Are you still cross?” he asks petulantly, dropping his hand and backing away. Too bad he doesn’t make the same mistake as Old Thumbless did earlier. “It’s been five years, Bugaboo. Surely, that’s long enough for you to be over your little snit?”

“Snit?” My eyes flash and I can’t help but respond. “You and your father set the world on fire, you motherfucker.”

I can see the amusement on his face. He’s getting what he wants, but he forgets. I know how to make him hurt.

I make my next words cut deeper than any knife and hit harder than any bullet.

I make sure to smirk as smugly as he’s ever done as I say, “Good thing your mother’s still a corpse. She’d kill herself if she saw you now.”

His answer comes in the form of a blow, sharp and hard. He’s shaking with rage when I can see again.

I spit out blood, laughing as I say, “And if she was alive? I’d kill her in front of you. I’d want the last thing she sees to be you watching her die again.”

“Put a hood on her,” he growls, hands twitching eager to close around my throat. “And make sure her restraints are tight.”

He doesn’t hit me again. He wants me aware for every second of what’s to come. 

The world goes dark again as the hood slips over my eyes. 

I’m loaded onto a vehicle and the travel is rough. I find myself wishing I was unconscious again just so I didn’t have time to think about piercing green eyes and a cold smile that makes the heart I thought I left behind ache like everything happened yesterday instead of five years ago.

After an eternity or three, I’m tossed hard on the ground, still bound and hooded. 

For several hours, I’m left that way before I’m moved again. This time I’m not picked up, but dragged over stone. How far, I can not say. The pain is too intense as I’m slammed into walls and my head bounces off the floor.

I feel myself stop. Gentle hands grasp me, and I flinch. There’s no such thing as a gentle hand in this world. Those belong to before.

I realize that the voices I hear, muffled as they are by the hood, are high and clear. Women.

I stop flinching, although my mind tells me it’s a mistake. Women are no less dangerous than men. I’m proof enough of that.

But the hands remain gentle as the hood lifts and the chains fall away. I hear a barked order from a man telling someone to move back, and I hear a rifle bolt readying, too, from the direction of the man’s voice. 

The gentle hands pull away as commanded.

I can hear the chains being dragged away, and this is my moment, probably the only chance I’ll have. 

My limbs are leaden and unusable. The light blinding. My chance is gone, never really here to begin with.

Before I can come to my senses, I hear the grinding of metal and then a loud thunk. They’ve barred whatever door just closed.

I scan my surroundings as my vision clears. The room is green like Adrien’s eyes. I’m not used to green anymore. The savannah is gold and brown. Whenever anything blooms these days, it’s sickly and fades under the baking sun. The light here is filtered somehow and is as gentle as the hands that freed me.

I can smell the earthy scent of fresh water, and my surprise must show as several women back away from me.

How did I not see them? I’m so blinded by plants and clean water I never thought I would see again that I’ve become stupid.

They are straight-backed and well-fed. They have not wanted. Dressed in silks—diaphanous, sheer, translucent, revealing—what they are is apparent. 

These women are property. Valuable property. 

I know what they are, and I can see in their eyes that they know what I am, too. Fat Pete called me feral. He was right.

If I had a choice between being imprisoned with these soft, pale women with their gentle hands and fighting to the death with Fat Pete’s men, I would choose the fight.

That thought tells me how far gone I am. If I had anything truly human still in me, I might cry.

My distress feeds theirs. I can sense we are moments from panic. I’ll be forced to hurt these women if they come at me, but the choice between fight and flight only works if flight is an option. This prison is spacious, but it’s still a prison.

From the back, a tall, slim woman glides forward. 

I know her. 

Her blond hair is still luxurious. Her eyes are still sharp and blue. 

But Chloé Bourgeois is not as soft as these other women. She is graceful and clean and free of disease, but I see in her eyes that she is not kept, only caged. She has a hardness to her that I can’t help but admire.

Even in the Wastes, I heard tales of her as I did of many of my friends from before. Most of them died. Some of them became akumas. Not Chloé. She led a resistance against Hawk Moth for over a year, no small feat with his thugs and akumas constantly scouring the city for her. Then news filtered through the Wastes that she had been caught. They paraded her through the city, holding her head high, defiant to the end. When the palace doors closed behind her, she was never seen again. I and everyone else assumed she was dead.

Not the first time I’ve been wrong, but it’s the first time in a long time I’ve been happy to be wrong.

“Hello, Marinette,” she says evenly. Probably wise not to be too happy considering I look like a madwoman. I’m guessing I don’t smell very good either. Chloé always hated bad smells.

I lower my head at the name, refusing to meet her gaze as I shake my head. There’s no danger in turning my attention away from her. Chloé and these women won’t harm me unless I force the issue.

“Do you prefer Ladybug?” Chloé asks, and the women behind her murmur. They didn’t know.

I raise my eyes to the girl I hated back in school, expecting the same shrewish sneer she always had for me, mocking my failures. To my surprise, the only emotion in her eyes is sorrow.

I shake my head again. That’s a name I will never deserve again. Both names belong to The World That Was.

“What should I call you?” she asks. The faintest of smiles graces her lips, and I find myself captivated. She belongs to that time, too, even now. She is something unique.

The world that dies day by day as I watch powerless is filled with broken people with broken bodies and broken souls.

My body is strong. So is Adrien’s. Both our souls are broken beyond repair, though.

Not Chloé. Her body is strong and so is her soul. When our eyes meet again, I feel that same longing I felt when I looked at Adrien. I am not ashamed of this urge. I know this for what it is. 

I long for before when my future was filled with endless possibility and a boy who loved me. I long for people who aren’t broken. I long to walk down the street knowing I am this beautiful city’s protector, not a failure crouching in a ruin.

I long for something that can never be, but is what Chloé deserves.

I crawl until my back is against the wall on the opposite end from the women in our shared captivity. They deserve space away from a feral Waster who smells of her own sweat and blood and worse.

Chloé is still waiting, more patient than I had ever thought she would be before. 

“Mari,” I mutter. “Just Mari now.”

She nods and is all business as she turns to the others. “Girls, gather some food for Mari, but don’t crowd her,” she says, still gentle but allowing no dispute. “If she sleeps, don’t approach her. She won’t hurt you on purpose, but… she’s had hard times.” She turns her head back towards me, and I can see softness. I do not think it is pity. I’m glad she doesn’t pity me.

“Show Mari respect,” she continues. “If anyone deserves respect, it’s her.”

The women gather food from their garden, and I marvel. What exists here seems impossible.

Soon enough, they bring their bounty to me and stop three meters away. One of them asks if it’s okay to come near me, and I nod.

I’ve decided I’ll die before I hurt these women. They don’t need to know that. It’s best to have boundaries.

Glancing at Chloé seated near the window across the room, I see she is still watching. I suspect she knows what I’m thinking. I find that as annoying as I do comforting.

The women sit with me as I eat. To their credit, they don’t flinch away from my smell or my manners. To my credit, I don’t eat like a savage or snarl at them when they take things for themselves. It is their food after all.

I gather from their chatter that this room is what they’ve known for most of their lives since everything went to hell. They’re younger than Chloé and me. The eldest is probably fourteen.

My stomach turns at the thought of children as property. I may be a filthy, murderous Waster, but child slavery is not something I can tolerate.

I force my thoughts away from awful things I can’t fix and listen. I learn quite a few things. These are good girls. That’s obvious by what they say and how they say it. They’re also scared. Something is happening, and they’re not sure what it means for them.

The hints they’ve heard from guards that something is planned for them curdles my stomach with suspicion. I make a quick count. There are six of them plus Chloé and me, and I hold the Miraculous that Hawk Moth needs if he’s ever going to try his ritual again. 

The last time he made the attempt, he needed seven pure girls for their blood. I’m guessing Chloé fits Hawk Moth’s vision of purity or she wouldn’t be here.

I find myself wishing I could change their fate.

I hate myself for giving up before I’ve even tried, but if I did pull off a miracle and get them out of here, what would I even do with them? This world would ruin them and then kill them.

“Girls,” Chloé says as she approaches, pulling me out of my dark thoughts. “It’s time to prepare for bed, and Mari needs some space. She’s been more than patient with you.”

The young women are docile. They obey Chloé instantly, and I see the trust in their eyes. I would be disturbed by that, but I can tell they’re right. Chloé will not harm them. 

She’s different from me. I don’t want to admit I know what I would do if saving myself for the chance to eventually kill Hawk Moth means leaving them to die. Bile rises in the back of my throat, but I know it’s true. 

I must kill Hawk Moth. I have to. I’ve known for years that I will sacrifice anything to get to that goal, and I can’t afford to let innocent smiles and gentle hands distract me from the only thing I have left.

Chloé sits near me, still respecting my space.

“Would you like to bathe, Mari?” she asks.

I look at her in horror. Water isn’t for bathing. Not anymore.

She chuckles at my disgust. 

“We’re punished if we don’t bathe,” she says, looking at the girls chattering and laughing and touching each other without flinching away, and she sighs. “Actually, they punish the rest if one of us doesn’t bathe.”

“Oh,” is my only response. It’s that kind of prison.

Chloé looks at me, conflicted. “They gave us powders when you came in… for the lice.”

I recoil from her gaze. I remember a time when I was clean, and it hurts me physically to be humiliated like this in front of a woman who knew the girl I was.

“Just a Waster,” I murmur.

Chloé puts a hand on my arm. Both of us know that she takes a risk touching something like me.

“Mari,” she says. “We’re all knee-deep in shit these days. Dwellers and Wasters alike.”

Her words resonate with me. She has changed so much, and I hate to think it’s for the better because this world doesn’t deserve better. Maybe, I reason, this world just hurried along the Chloé that was always going to be. That means, though, that this world hurried along the me that was always going to be.

I nod, though, and let her help me prepare the bath.

The powders burn my skin, but I’m pretty sure no bug could live through whatever it is.

As she helps me clean, Chloé explains that the water in the garden’s small waterfall is for the plants and for drinking. They must be careful with that water. What they don’t use drains below and is purified again before being pumped back for bathing water. After it’s used for bathing, the remains are kept for waste collection.

It’s an efficient system, but an unnecessary luxury. That isn’t the fault of these women. They are kept sacrifices.

I hope they don’t know that.

Once I’ve been washed a first time, Chloé lets me know she was instructed that I bathe in clean water again immediately after or the powder would eat my flesh. I find that difficult to argue against.

This time, she joins me in the bath, both to wash my back and my hair and to bathe herself. The others had bathed in pairs, too, so I know this is not salacious, and she is not making an offer although when I see her ivory skin and wet, blonde ringlets, I ache in ways I wish I didn’t. She is only offering kindness and deserves better than that. 

After we bathe, she leads me to the sleeping quarters. A package has been left for me. I don’t want to open it, so one of the girls does for me.

Inside is a gown similar in make to theirs, but red with black trim. It’s just as transparent… just as disgusting.

I am property now for whatever brief time I’m here. I also understand the deeper message. 

In Hawk Moth’s eyes, I am now one of these girls.

If I disobey… if I try to or succeed in escaping… if I kill a guard… these women will pay for my “crimes.”

The girls are not wearing their gowns. It is explained to me that we sleep in the nude. Damaging the gowns while sleeping is cause for punishment.

There is a problem, and I do not hide my apprehension well. 

“Seven beds,” I mumble and the girls stare at me as if I’ve said something odd.

A thin, wisp of a brunette named Emily steps forward saying, “Two of us can share, Mari. We don’t mind at all. You can have your own bed.”

I’m not going to take their beds. I’ve taken their food and their water. I have nothing to repay them with.

“No,” I grunt and back away.

Chloé’s hand on my shoulder stops me. My eyes flick from her eyes to her hand and back again. She understands what risk she’s taking laying hands on me when I’m agitated. 

Again I find myself respecting her bravery.

“Mari,” she explains. “We all share here.” 

I glance at the others and they do look strangely hurt that I am separating myself. I push down the panic inspired by the knowledge that I’m expected to be a part of their group.

“It’s important, Mari,” Chloé continues. “It’s very important that you and I and the other girls know we’re in this together. Do you understand?”

I do. I don’t like it, but I get it. 

We live as one. We hurt as one. We die as one.

Looking at the girls again, I see they think I’m rejecting them. What I can’t stand is them thinking that I look down on them… that I think they’re weak or unworthy.

They are the only worthy people I’ve seen in years.

“I don’t deserve…” I manage to say before the words choke in my throat. This isn’t a world where ideas like a person deserving anything or a person being expected to share can exist. This is a world where you take or you die.

It’s what I did in the Wastes. I hated it. At first, I resisted, but quickly it became clear I was going to die if I didn’t fight and take. I tried to take only from those that hurt others or took from others, but everyone started blending together so quickly. Finally, I couldn’t tell and didn’t care who deserved what. All I knew was that I had to survive so I could kill Hawk Moth.

And now I’m his property.

I hate myself because I’m trembling in recognition of my own weakness.

Chloé’s hand is still on my shoulder and the warmth of her touch makes my decision for me.

“Can I share with you?” I ask carefully. 

I rarely use full sentences these days. A lot of people I meet think that I’m either mute or stupid. I’m neither. I’ve just grown used to living without speaking. These days, I only use them when I need to hurt like I did with Adrien.

Chloé’s relief is visible. She must have worried that I would reject their kindness and decide to leave them to be punished because I was too sun-crazed to care.

“Of course,” she whispers.

It’s only when we’re settling in that I realize I’m crawling into bed with no clothes and my partner is just as nude. With one of the younger girls, I could imagine I was their admittedly very young mother at least compared to their ages, but with Chloé I don’t have that luxury.

Seeing my hesitation, she rolls her eyes at me and the familiar gesture pulls out what is my first laugh in years. It sounds broken in my ears.

The girls look startled but thrilled that I’m capable of laughing. Chloé allows them to chatter for a few minutes before she tells them to blow out the candles.

It’s very dark in here without starlight or the burning, shattered cities on the horizon.

Chloé can sense my tension and wraps her arms around me and hums a lullaby.

For the first time in many years, the world goes dark and it is neither because I have been beaten into unconsciousness or fitfully drifted into a half-sleep with one hand on a weapon.

I think I like this too much.

Dawn wakes me. 

I am still in Chloé’s arms, and I am unsure what I should do.

My partner stirs, sensing I am awake.

“It’s okay, Mari,” she whispers. “After yesterday’s excitement, let them sleep.”

There is sense in conserving energy, so I give a short, curt nod and settle into the softness of the bed, which is unsettling after so long.

Once the girls are awake, Chloé lets them dress and play silly games among themselves. They give me space and obey’s Chloé’s order from yesterday not to pressure or crowd me.

I should hate their play. It has no value. It will not help them survive.

But I find that I can not hate them for enjoying their morning. The world is dying. These innocents should find what joy they can while they can.

After a while, Chloé calls them to order and pulls out another treasure I thought I would never see again. Books. She gives them lessons in mathematics and writing and language and they participate eagerly.

I can’t even figure out how to react to this, so I watch quietly from the corner. I do not understand what she expects from this.

Once Chloé figures it’s midday, she has them break for stretching and what light exercise they can get in this room, and then they eat lunch as they rest.

Chloé brings me food and sits with me as the girls have their lunch in the garden.

I take the food and we eat in silence until she sees me eyeing the books.

“Why?” I ask. No elaboration is necessary.

That gentle smile returns to her face as she explains, “I have to believe there’s a chance we’ll get out of here and we can… fix this somehow.”

My glare is honest in its disbelief.

She does not stop smiling. “If it’s useless, at least it keeps them from going crazy in here. It gives me some sort of purpose.”

I spent enough time staring into the monotony of the Wastes to deny that sometimes you need to distract yourself before you decide to throw yourself off of some tall rocks.

I nod in the direction of the books and ask, “Where’d you get them?” Surely, they didn’t let her bring them in with her.

“I was trying to teach the girls on my own. I wasn’t making much in the way of progress, but the guards thought it the funniest thing they had ever seen,” she says before pausing, flicking her eyes towards me and then staring into space. 

I can sense there is something she does not want to tell me. She must think it will anger me. I chew my food and do not push her. If she thinks she shouldn’t tell me, she’s probably right.

“You’ll probably hear about this before too long,” she continues quietly. “So I need to ask you to not try and tear the place apart or anything.”

I cut my eyes at her and keep chewing. I don’t owe her that much yet.

Sighing, she continues to eat, too, weighing whether she should tell me. It is several minutes later when she says, “The guards talked, and Chat Blanc heard. A few days later, he tosses me a bag of books.” 

I’ve stopped chewing at the name. Surprised, I say, “Adri—” 

Her narrow-eyed glare contains enough anger to make even me pause. Her voice is low, quiet, and there is steel in her words as she says, “Never use that name, Mari. My friend is dead. The monster walking around with his body is not him.”

She visibly deflates. “Not anymore,” she finishes.

I do not offer her comfort, but I do not antagonize her either. She hates calling what is left of the boy I loved by a name she knew and loved since they were children together. It’s the same reason why I can’t call him Chat Blanc. It opens a wound when I’m reminded he used to be Chat Noir, my partner and lover.

I shrug. It’s all I can offer, but it seems to be enough as she continues.

“He threw the books at me and taunted me in front of the girls, telling me how useless the girls are, so why not give them something useless to do until they’re ready,” she says.

Adrien wants to take their hope and crush it while he watches. For the first time, I find myself wanting these girls to learn as much as they can. I want them to take Adrien’s words and shove them down his throat until he chokes on them.

“You took that better than I thought you would,” Chloé says, openly appraising me.

I do not respond. The food is gone, so I watch the girls who are reading on their own and talking about the books.

“He’s going to come here soon,” she whispers and now she has my full attention. “You’re here, and he’ll want to provoke you so he can hurt them.” She nods in the children’s direction.

“Won’t work,” I say. I’ll be damned if they pay for Adrien’s need for me to play his twisted games.

“Thank you,” she says, and that earns another uneasy glare from me.

All of this is far too civilized for what we are now.

Chloé does not respond to me, and instead goes back to her lessons.

Near the end of the day, we’re made to stand in a line with our backs to the doors. Once we comply, the bar is lifted and the door opens.

I do not turn. I can smell the oil on their guns. I might kill these men, but I would not get far and I would be responsible again for the deaths of innocents. I wonder when I became so weak that this would deter me from my mission.

The guards leave cooked meat for our dinner before backing out of the room and barring the door.

I do not dwell on how soft I have become in one day. We eat and the girls talk and we bathe and sleep.

I share Chloé’s bed again, and the ache from last night returns. I do not act on it. I do not allow it to make me do things both she and I will regret.

The girls soon sleep, and Chloé whispers into my ear, “Are you okay?”

I grunt as quietly as possible. I feel shame that she can sense the heat coming off me.

“They’ve made it clear that if any of us have sex, we’ll be killed, but if you need to… touch someone, I’m here. Please… please don’t go to the girls. They don’t understand,” she says quietly. 

Her words are gentle, but they hurt me worse than anything has since I watched the boy I loved make himself into a monster.

“Is that,” I pause and lower my voice. “Is that what you think of me?”

I shift and look her in the face. I want to see her answer this before I decide what I’ll do.

Chloé wipes a tear from my face that I didn’t realize was there, and she brushes my hair off my forehead.

“I don’t know what to think, Mari,” she says, sadly and honestly. “What would you think? Would you trust someone who’s been through what you’ve been through?” She twitches her head in the direction of the other beds. “With them? I’m all they have. I can’t take chances.”

I feel… better. I understand the urge to protect even if it hurts that they might need protection from me.

“Smart thing would’ve been to strangle me in my sleep,” I say. It’s the truth, and I half-expected that would have been my end last night.

“I thought about it,” she responds. I can tell she means it, and I feel relief that she has some sense at least. “I took a chance, though, that somewhere inside the Waster you’ve become is someone who can help us get out of this fucking prison.”

My eyes are wide. I should not be surprised, but I am. 

“Maybe on the way out,” she continues. “We can kill that fucker, Hawk Moth, too.”

She hates him the way I hate him. I feel the ache twist into desire. My breathing is shallow, and all I can think is that I wish I had more self-control. Her hatred resonates inside me and makes me want like I haven’t wanted in years.

In the scarce moonlight, Chloé’s eyes flick to my lips and then back to my eyes. 

I realize she wants permission, which is the most bizarre thing in this bizarre situation. I nod, though. I’ll regret this, but I nod.

She closes the distance and our mouths meet.

I wrap one arm around her pulling her close. I plant my free hand firmly on her shoulder. There is only so much temptation I can put before myself and still show restraint.

Chloé laughs against my mouth. She understands what I’m doing. “Thank you,” she says.

For a while, we are lost in each other, and then we sleep.

This is the pattern we follow for the next three days. The girls learn. I keep my distance. At night, I hold a better woman than I can ever deserve, and we offer what comfort we can to each other. I try to forget what Chloé said about Adrien coming here.

On the fourth morning, I can’t forget about Adrien any longer because he’s standing in front of me. 

I might as well be naked dressed in this ridiculous gown. It is both obvious and galling that I am in this room with Chloé and these girls because he wants to humiliate me and use me as an excuse to kill the others, or at the very least hurt them badly.

What he hasn’t counted on is that here and now after I’ve been fed and rested, I can see him as he truly is. When I was captured and he came to fetch me, the pain of our reunion was so sharp and my wounds from the chase were so fresh that I could barely look at him.

I had thought he still had Plagg. I had thought he still had the ability to transform from Adrien Agreste into Chat Blanc. 

He is not transformed. He can not transform. 

The clothes he wears are just that. A costume. Nothing more.

He is like me, fused to a Miraculous and lesser than he used to be.

I am certain he suspects what I also suspect about the Miraculous. If I die, my Miraculous dies with me.

He can not kill me. The ritual needs me. This is my weapon. I must use it carefully or innocent blood will soak these floors, so I keep my face neutral.

“Hello, my sweet,” he says with a wide grin. His eyes flick in turn to each girl and then Chloé and then back to me.

Chloé stands to my left. She is still, unblinking, filled with a hatred for Adrien so intense that it is easy for her to stay calm while she hopes for an opportunity to end him.

I think if it’s possible for me to feel affection and admiration then that is what I feel for her now. I am certain that Adrien will not have counted on that. I’m a Waster. Filthy and savage.

The girls stand behind Chloé and me, but in my peripheral vision, I can see them trembling under his gaze. He has hurt them before. I feel it deep inside me, and I don’t doubt it for a moment.

For the first time in years, I want to kill Adrien for someone other than myself. While he prattles on, I try to decide if that makes me stronger or weaker. I do not know, but it keeps me from losing my temper and trying to tear out Adrien’s throat with my teeth.

At the sound of my name, he has my attention again.

“Have you decided to become a pupil in Chloé’s makeshift school, My Lady?” he asks, oozing false curiosity. He doesn’t care. He only wants a target.

I do not answer except to stare at him dead-eyed.

“Your silence is quite tiresome, Marinette,” he snaps. “If you don’t answer, punishment is in order.”

I hear Jessa sniffle. She’s a delicate girl. The youngest. Barely ten. She deserves to play in warm, loving sunshine. She deserves to have ice cream and fantasize about a boy or a girl asking her to watch a movie, thinking only of how nice it would be for someone to look at her like she’s special.

All of them deserve better than becoming collateral damage in a fight they didn’t start and can’t finish.

I make my move.

“You need me alive,” I hiss. I tense, fists clenched. Chat Blanc isn’t the only one with fangs.

He smirks at me like I’m stupid. “That’s why I’m going to hurt the others instead… or maybe I’ll only hurt Chloé. Do you think I can’t see how she’s trying oh so very hard to avoid looking at you?” 

Adrien knows I care for them and thinks he can use it as leverage against me.

Emily is crying openly.

I decide to enjoy what comes next.

“Hurt any of them and I’ll kill myself,” I spit out, allowing the grin I’ve been fighting to spread across my face. I’m trembling with anticipation at the chance to finally die. “You know what will happen to my Miraculous. I die. It goes away. Forever. No more ritual.”

I can tell that both Adrien and Chloé can see how eager I am for all of this to end.

I do not feel regret that Chloé sees this. She should know what kind of broken thing she holds at night. Maybe it will convince her that I’m not worth it, which is the truth. Maybe it will convince her to shove me out of her bed because I’m wretched and wrong and should never know a gentle touch filled with love. That’s also the truth.

I also feel a pure kind of joy that Adrien sees this. The frustration on his face is all the reward I’ll ever need.

“Fine,” he barks. “All of you get to play and frolic for the next thirty days. Obey Father’s rules and you won’t be touched.”

It is his turn to shake with rage and ball his fists. He knows that any harm Chloé or the girls suffer will be the end of all of Hawk Moth’s plans.

He points at me. “Understand this, Ladybug. If you kill yourself, these women you’ve decided are precious will suffer in ways they’ve never imagined.”

The fact that he’s desperate for me to live until the ritual where I will be killed and harvested for my Miraculous clicks something awful into place in my head. 

He is going to sacrifice himself in the ritual. He has to die just like I will have to die for our Miraculous to complete the ritual, and he doesn’t care.

Adrien is dead. I’ve always told myself he’s dead. I’ve always needed to believe it as badly as I’ve ever needed anything, but now I understand. The boy I loved actually died. His soul no longer inhabits the flesh standing in front of me. He would never sacrifice me or these girls just for the chance to die at his father’s hand. Adrien would never want to see his beloved mother live again in this nightmare of a world.

In a moment of weakness born out of desperation to bring back a mother he loved with all his heart, Adrien decided to believe in his father… to believe in the possibility that Gabriel Agreste might be a good man who loved his son as much as he loved the mother of his son.

Whatever akuma possessed Adrien that day extinguished his life. If there had been anything of Adrien left, he would have fought through his father’s lies.

“You know you have to die, too, right?” I ask, forgetting myself for a moment. Part of me still can not imagine the boy I loved could go through with this.

If I needed confirmation of how far gone he is, I get it as Adrien’s… no, Chat Blanc’s face twists with rage. He begins shouting, “You ruin everything! First you ruined the ritual and Mother couldn’t come back. You drove Father to this. You’re making him do this, you know that, right?

“All you do is ruin things. Now you and I both have to die so Father can have his dream! If you had just given up instead of being the stupid little girl you’ll always be, Mother would be here and the world would be fine. Instead, you had to have your way. You couldn’t let Father be happy, could you?

“And what do you get?” Adrien asks, winding down. He’s still full of venom, but it’s more controlled now. “You said I started a fire that burned the world? No, Marinette, you did that. You burned the world because you wouldn’t just die like you were supposed to.”

He stalks out and his guards follow.

It takes hours to calm the girls. Chloé does this. I am not a calming presence, so I keep my distance.

It is not until Jessa comes and hugs me that I realize that the girls want me close. They now think of me as a part of their patchwork family. I have no idea how this happened.

I try to comfort her and I know my embrace is awkward. It does not deter the others and soon they’ve all latched onto me.

Chloé laughs at my discomfort. The girls soon follow her lead.

It’s better than crying, I reason.

That night, Chloé surprises them with permission for a “sleepover.” Six beds are pushed together and all the girls will be allowed to stay up as late as they like on their communal bed.

The seventh bed is positioned nearby for Chloé and me. When Chloé asks why it’s separate, Emily looks at her as if the answer is obvious before explaining, “Mari needs her space.”

That they think of me and what I might need touches me. I don’t think I like it.

It takes a long time for the children to wind down. As they’re finally drifting off, Camille, a pretty girl who is quieter than the rest, looks at me and says, “You and Chloé are the best mamans we could ever have.”

The other girls enthusiastically agree.

I do not understand these children. I find myself wishing I did.

When we are in the dark and I am sure only Chloé and I are awake, I tell her what I think of Adrien. She tells me she agrees. I do not know if she truly agrees, but I’ll take what I can right now.

I tell her we’re going to escape.

She kisses me on the cheek and says, “I never expected anything less. I have a plan.”

Her plan is simple. She has noticed one of the guards that brings meat to us at night wants her. His glances have turned into stares. She believes he will take what’s offered, and I can kill him and break us out.

There’s only one problem. The guards always come in pairs. If the other guard is more afraid of what might happen than greedy for his own turn, the plan falls apart. If I am too slow, then one of the two might get to his weapon. If there’s a single shot, the plan falls apart.

It is our only chance. We must risk it.

We take two days to coach the girls. They are nervous but their belief in Chloé is so strong that they are willing to try. It helps that they will be in the second room instead of having to participate.

I do not say out loud that the guards might demand they participate. I will deal with that if it happens.

On the third day, we put the plan into action.

Killing the guards is simpler than expected. They turn on each other, each demanding the first turn, and I am quick enough with a shard of shattered mirror to slit the guards’ throats before they can reach their rifles.

I am glad the girls do not have to witness that and I am annoyed with myself that I care. The look on Emma’s face as she offered me the one mirror they’d been allowed, and as I smashed it against the flagstone of the waterfall, was enough.

The second part of the plan is I scout alone. I have one hour. If I am caught, we’re all dead anyway, so it’s agreed that I’ll bar the door in case anyone wanders by.

I strip off my stupid gown and I’m off. It is better to be naked than tangled up in those silks. 

The layout isn’t nearly as confusing as it might have been. Between Hawk Moth’s guards and his akumas, he has no need to go to that much trouble.

My other fear is quickly relieved, too. Many warlords keep as many of their men near them as possible. Hawk Moth relies on his own power and the power of his akumas, and Gabriel was always a man who liked cold, empty mansions. What few guards there are follow regular patterns and will be easy to avoid.

This is why they are so careful with how they structured Chloé’s prison. Once outside it, getting away is simple.

I realize that this is my chance. I could abandon the girls and Chloé. I could track down Hawk Moth and make my play. I’m sure he’s got his akumas and Chat Blanc near him, but alone I might slip through and kill the bastard.

If I fail, I’ll be dead and my Miraculous will go away forever. There will be no need to sacrifice the children several floors above waiting on me, hoping I’ll return safely and lead them away from this awful place.

I can not say my choice is easy. I hope I don’t regret choosing hope over vengeance. This world does not tolerate hope any longer, but I feel the need to try one more time.

Once I find an exit, I head back. It’s only been a little under twenty minutes. I hope the girls are swift on their feet and don’t break down crying once we move out.

Our group is small enough to move quickly and quietly, bare feet on stone making little sound. We avoid the guards easily, and this is when I decide that questioning the ease of this escape will slow us down and make our capture more likely. If it’s a trap, there’s no avoiding it.

We glide through the broken streets. I am careful to find paths free from too much debris as I follow Chloé’s directions until we approach a familiar building… a school.

Once, a girl named Marinette Dupain-Cheng went to this school. There she studied and laughed with friends and pined for a gentle, perfect boy. There she traded barbs and insults with a mayor’s daughter as if the worst thing in the world were mean words spoken by a snobby brat.

I hate how innocent I was.

I hope the girls I am leading wherever Chloé is taking us never lose the innocence that repels me.

I think no matter what it’ll be good to die so I can stop feeling all this pain.

We stop in front of the school and I turn to Chloé.

Quietly, she says, “We need to get to the basement inside. There’s a way into the sewers and my old hideout.”

She has told me that Hawk Moth never found where she hid for that year of rebellion. She was caught while taking supplies to one of her cells, and once she was caught Hawk Moth didn’t care where she had been living.

I nod and we’re off. The building’s insides are gutted and I see sleeping forms. Dwellers have taken over. I see telltale stirrings and know what I must do.

“Close your eyes, girls,” I say. “Do not open them until Chloé tells you to.” They obey instantly, and I grab the closest Dweller and stab the unlucky soul through the eye with a knife I liberated from one of the dead guards.

The Dweller is dead instantly.

“Run or I’ll kill you all,” I say, adding my best snarl. I am bathed and do not look like a Waster, but it is something burned into a person’s soul. These Dwellers know they will die if they stay.

They don’t stay. Scrambling and running, they leave whatever they have behind. 

Chloé has the girls gather what clothes they can find while she grabs some tools that might be of use. She’s smart. The sewers will be dangerous enough for these children. Going in with the flimsy gowns they wear would be suicide.

Working quickly, we have what we need and Chloé leads the girls through what remains of the school’s halls to stairs that lead down to the old boiler room.

I sense his presence and wonder if he allowed me to do so. I stop and turn to face Chat Blanc as he casually leans against the wall.

I can hear the girls whimper, but my eyes do not leave the pair of green eyes I once longed to wake up to for the rest of my days.

Chat Blanc smiles, easy and carefree. “I always wondered where you had your base, Chloé my dear.”

I answer his words. “Chloé, take the girls and go. I’ll catch up.”

“Will you now?” Chat asks. “Yes, Chloé, run along and we’ll have a nice talk after I’ve broken Bugaboo’s legs so she can’t run away again.”

I growl and fall into a ready crouch. I hear the door open behind me and the girls flee. I’ve never felt more relief in my life.

Chat Blanc is ready for me and he waits, knowing I’ll make the first move. I move forward at a sprint.

I am stronger and faster than I used to be. That has saved me more times than I can count. It will not be enough tonight. I know that before I’ve taken my first step.

I lash out as soon as I’m in range and Chat ducks my blow and rolls to his left. My fist meets the concrete of the wall where he stood, and it cracks from the blow. If I can connect, I can hurt him.

This is a fantasy. He is not only the wielder of a Miraculous, but an akuma. His power far exceeds mine now in every way.

Regardless, I hope to buy time. Pressing any momentum I have, I continue to throw wild blows and he laughs as he stays centimeters out of my reach.

Soon he tires of our game and his smirk falls away. He looks bored and petty and self-indulgent. Part of me wonders if he always looked this way. I don’t believe so. I believe Adrien always looked innocent and hopeful.

But this is not Adrien. 

Chat Blanc dodges one more blow before tripping me. I slide hard on the floor and only stop when my back hits a pile of jagged rubble.

I am bleeding already, and he hasn’t even tried to hit me.

“This has been fun, My Lady,” Chat drawls. “And I wanted you to feel like you had a chance. No one wants you to think all you’ve done is for nothing… Oh, wait… Yes, I do!”

He grins and approaches me. I struggle to stand, and he helps me by grabbing me by the throat and hauling me to my feet.

I would thank him, but his chokehold is very effective. I can feel my larynx crushed, and I congratulate myself on not passing out.

“Now, you can’t die on me just yet,” he hisses. “But soon y—”

His words stop when an old rusty wrench impacts the right side of his face. 

He drops me, but I am useless due to the pain of my crushed windpipe. I can feel it knitting itself back together, and I am thankful I have been well-fed these past few days. It’s still all I can do to hold my head up.

Chat Blanc is in no better shape. He is bleeding out of his right ear and eye. Staggering, he turns to face his new opponent.

It’s Chloé.

All I want to do is to scream at her to run and save herself and the girls. I am not recovered well enough, though, to do even that much.

At least Chloé has the sense to hit him again as hard as she can. The crack as the wrench impacts his skull is satisfying.

“You murdered my Adrien, you filthy akuma,” Chloé hisses. 

Another blow. 

“You murdered my papa when all he tried to do was keep people calm and organized when you destroyed our city,” her voice is thick with emotion. 

Another blow. Chat Blanc falls to his knees. 

“You murdered Sabrina in front of me after you captured us just to watch me scream for mercy!” 

Another blow. Chat Blanc falls forward and catches himself with a hand before he can hit the ground. His face is a ruined mess.

“But you aren’t going to murder my girls,” she shouts, punctuating her words with a final blow. There is a sickening crunch as Chat Blanc falls to the ground. He is dying.

“You’ll never touch them,” she says, dropping the wrench.

It is only then that I see the girls followed Chloé back and have witnessed the death of Chat Blanc or Adrien or whatever it is he had become.

I feel the fight drifting out of me. I am for the first time aware that I needed these children to hold onto innocence. I needed to have something to fight for that this world hadn’t ruined.

Even killing Hawk Moth isn’t enough now. 

My world is fire and blood.

My world is dying.

And now, Adrien is dying, too. He will take his Miraculous with him. 

Hawk Moth will never complete his ritual.

I have not won, but neither has the man I’ve dedicated what passes for my life to fighting.

Soon, I will leave this world. The blood poisoning will see to that. My Miraculous will leave with me. 

Distantly, I am aware of the girls holding me and murmuring comfort. I become aware that I am crying for only the second time since that disastrous day five years ago. The first time was because Chloé thought I had fallen so far as to become an animal that would abuse these children. Now I cry because I will not be able to protect the innocence she begged me not to take.

Chloé does not offer comfort. She is slumped against the wall, waving away any aid and staring at the corpse of an akuma that wears the face of a dead boy too good for either of us.

I hope Adrien rests somewhere peaceful and green. If I have the chance, I will tell Chloé this. She deserves to hear that I only hate what Adrien became, not all that he was.

A light, gentle and cool, begins to flow from Adrien’s corpse. 

Chloé looks to me, and I stand. I do not care what pain I am enduring. I must get the girls to safety. I believe that I tell them to stand back, but I am not sure.

Regardless, they keep their distance from Adrien. 

I do not. I approach as does Chloé although I know for certain I am gesturing at her to stay back.

I roll the body over and a small orb of light, streaked with black and green, rises from his chest and hovers.

We were wrong. The Miraculous does not pass with us into death, although I can tell it is not long before it too will fade and die.

If I were to take hold of his Miraculous, I would have what remains of both mine and his. Together, the two were supposed to be able to rewrite reality.

That is a temptation I can not endure. No one person can wield both and remain human.

“Chloé,” I say. My voice is ragged from the damage Adrien’s chokehold did.

She turns to face me.

“Take it,” I tell her. My tone is pleading. I find I do not care if she thinks less of me for that.

Her face is a picture of conflict. “What if it turns me into something like him?”

I shake my head. “It can’t do that. It’s a Miraculous, not an akuma.”

She stares at the light, unmoving. It begins to fade.

“Trust me,” I beg. “Please trust me.”

If she refuses, I have nothing left.

Her hand moves forward and I want to collapse in relief. At first contact, the light washes over her and her eyes flash green before returning to the startling blue I’ve become accustomed to. Now, though, her pupils are slits, shaped like a cat’s eyes.

This is new. Chat Blanc’s eyes were not like this.

I do not have time to react or speak. I feel something stir inside me and I feel a connection to my Miraculous that I thought had been lost. Energy pulses from me at the same time that energy pulses from the new Chat Noir. The energy flies outwards touching everything in its path.

How I can not say, but I know that some healing process has started. The world again has a Ladybug and a Chat Noir.

The world has a chance.

My throat is healed, and I know the poisons once coursing through my body are cleansed.

I stand and offer Chloé my hand. When she takes it, I feel… right.

We look to the girls and I still see innocence in them. Perhaps it is not a thing as easily stripped from a person as I feared.

“Chat Noir,” I say. My voice breaks and I have to pause.

“Yes, Ladybug?” she asks with a smile.

“Let’s get these girls to safety,” I answer. 

“Yes,” she replies. “Hawk Moth is still out there, and the eight of us have a world to save.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. I realize this one is insanely dark. I think it's very good, but it certainly won't be everyone's cup of tea, and honestly that's fine. I, myself, am partial to dark post-apocalyptic tragedies. I hope if you've stuck with the entire story, you've found something in it to enjoy. 
> 
> I also realize that Adrien-as-villain is often a controversial thing. All I ask is that some leeway is granted to me since this is an AU in a desolate, blasted world. Also, while I leave it up to the reader to determine whether Adrien died at some point prior to the point in time of the present as far as this story goes (perhaps during the failed ritual), I tend to feel as Marinette does about what happened. I purposefully didn't sketch out in my head what happened five years prior because I pointedly wanted the vague, jumbled nightmare that it was for my POV character to ring true.
> 
> I think as penance, I'll end up writing something in April for Adrinette month that's as close to pure fluff as I'm able. ;)
> 
> Other things to do with this story... Well, this started out as 800 or so words and it was primarily focused on the chase at the beginning. Originally, Adrien arrived with a captive Chloé in tow. There was an altercation, and Marinette escaped, taking Chloe with her. 
> 
> For some reason I've still not pinned down, that didn't sit precisely right with me. I let the story unfold and realized that at least part of the reason was that I was unhappy that the second half of the pairing (Chloé) had no agency in the story. Multiple thousands of words later, this is what I ended up with.
> 
> As for concerns outside the story, I've been pretty ill the past couple weeks. It's slowed me down a lot, and I apologize for the late nature of this. Hopefully, I am better able to write soon. A lot depends on certain health factors.
> 
> Oh, and as you might guess, this second week of Femslash February - Chlonette Edition is devoted to AU's.


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